


fan this spark into a flame

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: There are three things the entire Hogwarts population knows of.The first is that Raven Reyes was responsible for the crooked set of John Murphy’s nose, despite how many claim to not have seen a thing. The second is that the mysterious stain found on the tapestry of the first thirteen was caused by a potion mishap conducted by both Jasper Jordan and Monty Green. The last is ongoing feud between Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is a day late and heavily based off of one of my unpublished jily fics. because i'm a special kind of trash.
> 
> also, i'm writing bellamy as a hufflepuff in this fight me. (i'll probably post a reason why on my blog later or something)

_ 4th year _

“Griffin.”

“Blake.”

“How’s the head?” he asks, cocking his own to the side, “Did your tiara break?”

“It’s still in one piece, don’t fret,” she simpers, “How’s the bruised ego?”

“I’ll live.”

They’re interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat, and turn to find Professor Indra with her arms crossed and looking like she rather be anywhere else but here.

“Wands please,”she says. It’s not mandatory to confiscate wands during detention, but the last time someone left Bellamy and Clarke in room together unsupervised, they almost destroyed greenhouse four.

They hand it over with little pomp and circumstance, but Clarke can be seen pouting a little as Indra pockets them within her robes. In return they get a bottle of cauldron cleaner, some scrubbing brushes, and gloves.

“I’ll be back in two hours. Do try not to kill each other,” she says wryly before locking the door with a ‘snick.’

For a moment the two of remain on either side of of the classroom, sizing up the other. Finally, Clarke cracks first, saying, “I bet I can finish more cauldrons than you.”

Bellamy snorts. “Princess isn’t afraid of chipping a nail?” he taunts, and she huffs prissily, throwing a pair of gloves at his chest.

“Suit up, Blake,” she says, “Winner gets the Charms’ section library table for the rest of the term.”

He slides the gloves on. “Deal,” he replies before grabbing the bottle of cleaner and holding it out of her reach. “Prepare to lose, Griffin.”

* * *

 

 

There are three things that the entire Hogwarts population knows of.

The first is that Raven Reyes was responsible for the crooked set of John Murphy’s nose, despite how many claim to not have seen a thing. He was taunting her once again and Raven, as calm as anything, whapped him in the face with her walking stick. Or so it’s said. His nose was never the same again.

The second is that the mysterious stain found on the tapestry of the first thirteen was caused by a potion mishap conducted by both Jasper Jordan and Monty Green. Eyewitnesses report a hearing a loud bang followed by black fumes which gave way to a fluorescent green goo covering everything in a ten foot radius. Up to now some of the tapestry’s characters are still in hiding.

The last is ongoing feud between Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake.

Or perhaps feud is too nice a word. It’s more of a deep seated rivalry that has left chaos and destruction in its wake over the years.

No one quite knows how it started, not really, but evidence of their fighting could be traced back to first year, to yelling matches in the middle of the corridor.

(The first time people actually started to notice however was when they were given detention a few weeks into the school term. Clarke hexed his hair luridly pink and Bellamy jinxed her to only speak in limericks for a week. The two tiny first years were the feature of school gossip for weeks to come.)

After that, well, there’s a massive Griffin-Blake blowout every week, sometimes twice if Clarke gets a letter from home, after she burns it unflinchingly in the common room fire, or if Bellamy can be seen sporting bruised and bloodied knuckles, thunder in his eyes.

(His place is here, even with a  _ mudblood  _ for a mother. This is where he belongs.)

It’s not the usual rivalry one would expect to see between a pureblood Slytherin and a halfblood Hufflepuff. Instead it’s different, intriguing, eye catching in the sort of way a car crash might be.

(They generate quite a crowd whenever they go at it in public, tearing into each other in a blaze of fire and ice, spitting both poison and sharp edged words.)

Professor Kane is called in to break it up more often than not, trying his best to sufficiently discipline them instead of commending the amazing spellwork.

* * *

 

 

_ 5th year _

“Are trying to make us fail this class?” he hisses, hurrying to stir their draught of peace counterclockwise, a fact which Clarke was supposed to do when it started giving off lilac fumes as opposed to the violet ones it’s doing right now.

“Sorry,” she says, blushing dully and praying he doesn’t notice in the dim lighting of the dungeons. He just grunts in reply and shoulders her out of the way in an attempt to salvage their potion.

Professor Jackson is new, oblivious to the rivalry between the two of them and paired them up as potions partners.

For the entire term.

(They blew up a cauldron the first time they had to do a practical together. She was too busy criticising Bellamy’s chopping techniques and added far too much ashwinder eggs. As a result they both spent the rest of the month drawing their eyebrows in after they were singed off.)

They’ve moved past the mindless bickering since then though. Somewhat.

They’ve come to the realisation that they actually need to pass the practical course in order to get their O.W.L in potions, so, every Tuesday and Thursday they put aside their differences for the double period with set jaws and hardened eyes- the classic, I’ll do it, but I won’t be happy about it look- and get around to making whatever it is Jackson has on the board today.

They make a pretty good team, if she does say so herself. At least they do when she’s not get distracted by the curve of his jawline.

The start of fifth year saw Bellamy Blake shoot up almost six inches in height, filled out his form a bit more, and finally stopped greasing his hair back.

He has  _ curls _ , she was startled to learn, standing far too long on the platform staring at him and his sister as they boarded the train. Inky, midnight curls that stuck out every which way from his scalp that she wanted to muss up with her hands and tug on at the same time.

Thoughts like those are always fleeting and rare, but leave her shook nonetheless.

Don’t get her wrong, she’s always raring for a fight with him whenever she can get it, but now she also finds herself wondering what it would be like to lick into his mouth, press hard and biting kisses to his throat, feel those hands of his climb up, up her skirt and thighs-

Her thoughts are wandering down a dangerous route and she pulls back immediately, suddenly feeling hot in the chilly dungeon classroom.

“Sorry,” she says again after he’s managed to get it to the opalescent sheen it’s supposed to be after her mishap. “I’ll start measuring out the salamander blood while you grind the dung beetles?”

Bellamy watches her for a beat longer than usual, the muscle in his jaw jumping and oh Merlin, she wants to run her tongue over it, and maybe even her teeth. Clarke sinks down further into her seat and hopes that he remains ignorant to her internal turmoil.

“Okay,” he says at last, and when he turns away she lets out a breath.

Clarke Griffin is so, so screwed.

 

* * *

 

 

There are other things the Hogwarts population knows of, but for some, it’s only confined to the students.

Such as the hidden alcove behind a suit of armour on the fifth floor that you can access if you tickle the armour in the crook of its elbow.

It’s small and cramped and secluded, completely unknown by professors, which is what makes it a prime snogging spot.

Or, more specifically, it was Bellamy Blake’s prime snogging spot, one that was certainly seeing a lot more action after they came back.

Clarke isn’t the only one who’s noticed the change much to her chagrin. Much more people seem to appreciate his quidditch honed body and free flowing curls this year than they did last year and she’s not sure why but it makes her stomach turn in a funny way.

She learns of it when she’s skivving off arithmancy one day and quite literally runs into him and Gina, right there as they’re trying- and failing- to sneak back out.

Clarke rounds the corner and walks straight into his chest, and his hand grasp at her hips to balance her. She ignore the heavy heat of them on her skin and looks up.

Usually she’s already got a sharp comment waiting for him on the tip of her tongue, but the she sees their tangled hands and flushed cheeks and swollen lips and. Well, she’s not an idiot, she can put two and two together, and gets out of there before he can even finish whatever barb he had planned for her today.

She runs into them twice again over the next two weeks and each time she makes sure to double out of there as quick as she can. She really doesn’t want to deal with that.

(A week later she’s coincidentally passing by with Professor Indra when the two of them stumble out. Indra’s lips thins, and they both get detention while measures are put in place to hide the alcove.)

Everyone knows she’s the reason it’s been sealed off before the week is up, and no one appreciates having to trek up a million flights of stairs to get to the Astronomy Tower for some messy snogging and inexperienced groping. The fact doesn’t make her any more popular, but Clarke doesn’t care, especially when Bellamy and Gina break up a month later with very little fanfare.

(She’s not petty, she’s  _ not _ .)

* * *

 

 

_ 6th year _

“Griffin.”

“Blake.”

“Don’t fucking start,” Raven groans from where she’s spread out across an entire seat by herself on the train. “We’re not even at Hogwarts yet.”

Bellamy throws a chocolate frog at her and she catches it in mid air, ripping its head off with her teeth in one fluid motion.

“Goddamn seekers,” he grumbles, before nudging her leg. She grins at him toothily, and he makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “Move.”

“Why?” she asks around the chocolate, words garbled, “Clarke has an entire row to herself.”

His jaw works for a moment and then he must decide that he doesn’t want to argue with her today. So instead, he throws himself in the seat next to Clarke with a full body sigh, stretching out until his knee knocks into hers.

Clarke knocks him back, with ten times the force, and he hides his smile.

She’s changed over the summer, chopping her hair short until it brushes her shoulders, and just pulling the front pieces back as opposed to her usual braid. Not to mention that she’s filled out a bit more, and even though he tries his best, his eyes still flit down to her generous cleavage for a second.

Raven throws her chocolate frog card at him, smirking, and he flips her off inconspicuously in return.

“Where’s Octavia?” she asks as Clarke turns away from him, tucking into herself in a way that makes him frown. He’s so busy observing her that he almost doesn’t catch Raven’s question.

“Huh?” he says, tearing his eyes away and blinking, “Oh, um, I think she ran off with Lincoln. Wanted his help with Ancient Runes or something.”

Lincoln was a fellow Hufflepuff, seventh year prefect and quidditch captain. Bellamy liked him, but didn’t like how much time his little sister seemed to be spending with him.

“Sure, that’s what they’re calling it these days,” Raven snickers, and Bellamy pokes her his dirty shoes.

Clarke is still suspiciously quiet, so he nudges her knee once more and asks, “How was your summer, Princess? Which castle did you spend it in this time?”

There’s none of the vitriol he used to speak with in the earlier years, but she still turns to him and snaps, “Go to hell, asshole,” before going back to sulking.

Bellamy blinks a couple of times, trying to wrap his mind around her rotten mood. “Right,” he says shortly, “Okay.”

Raven says nothing, just presses her lips together in a line and gives him a half shrug. The rest of the train ride is tense and quiet and he tries to block it out by rereading the Iliad.

They have a total of three public arguments within the first week, screaming themselves hoarse at each other in the hallways and losing far too many house points to count. She’s short and curt with everyone, closed off and actually living up to the  _ ice bitch _ nickname bestowed upon her in first year. Everyone except Bellamy, who she picks a fight with at every turn, coming alive, eyes blazing and cheeks flushed.

He goes along with it, giving as good as he gets, because her bad mood has him in a bad mood and this is the only way to work off steam other than scrimmaging on the quidditch pitch.

It’s not until the second week, after they’ve lost maybe around sixty points a piece, does he find her sniffling by the Black Lake when he’s coming back up to the castle from practice, holding an old muggle watch in a death grip.

“Clarke?” he says, startled. Not  _ Princess  _ or  _ Griffin _ . Just  _ Clarke _ .

She jumps at his voice and his something in his chest twinges when her red rimmed eyes meets his.

“Go away Bellamy, I’m not in the mood,” she sighs thickly, swiping at her cheeks.

He ignores her and steps forward, twigs and driftwood cracking underfoot. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snaps, but the quivering of her bottom lip belies that statement.

He snorts softly, “Yeah, right,” before folding his legs underneath his body as he sits next to her. He drapes his scarf- bright yellow with black stripes that clashes terribly with her hair- around her neck and she looks up at him. “You’ll catch your death out here like this,” he says gruffly, turning away before she could see the pink creeping up his neck.

She tucks the soft fabric beneath her chin. “Thank you,” she sniffs, and then they lapse into silence, watching as the sun slowly dips beneath the horizon.

When there’s only a sliver of gold left, the sky painted purple and pink while shadows crawled across the grounds, she says abruptly, “My dad died,” and glances at him out of the corner of her eye.

He brushes his thumb across her wrist in a whisper of a touch. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She shrugs clumsily. “The aurors said it was natural causes but I-” she bites her lip and looks up at him, tears pooling in big blue eyes, “He knew something. Something he wasn’t supposed to, and my mum… she- she found out.”

“Do you think she-”

“Probably.”

His eyebrows furrow and he doesn’t stop rubbing circles into her wrist. “I didn’t see anything on the Prophet.”

“It’s my mum. She has enough money to buy anyone’s silence,” she mutters bitterly, swaying into him a little. The sun has set completely by now and she can only make out his silhouette, all sharp lines and hurricane hair. Clarke tucks her face against his arm. “I miss him.”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything, just squeezes her hand in his, and the two of them stay out there far past curfew, until their fingers go numb.

The next morning Clarke comes over to the Hufflepuff table during breakfast and returns his scarf. She thanks him for lending it to her and he says no worries. The rest of the school looks on with bated breath, waiting for someone to throw out a snarky comment, or draw their wand, but it never comes. Instead, Clarke leaves with a polite nod and Bellamy turns back to his eggs.

 

* * *

 

There was a fourth thing the entire Hogwarts population knew of. Or at least speculated. The fourth thing was highly contested and everyone who’s anyone had their very own theory or explanation as to how Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin had managed to pull the wool over their eyes and hide the fact that they had been secretly dating for years.

(Or hooking up, but they’re all a load of romantics dammit. They were  _ invested _ .) 

They’re not blind; they all see how Bellamy’s eyes flicker to her lips from time to time when they argue, sometimes straying even more south before his eyes flit back up to her glare. And Clarke’s no saint either; no one misses how her eyes rove over his shoulders and biceps straining against his starched, white shirt, and she was right there along with most than half the school to trying to get a peek after Miller  _ ‘Evanesco-ed’  _ his clothes when Hufflepuff won against Slytherin in the quidditch final and Bellamy was forced to walk back to his common room in nothing more than a flimsy towel and slippers.

The rumours have been flying free since fourth year, when Jasper Jordan swore up and down that they saw them share a butterbeer in Hogsmeade. Which they did, but they were having butterbeers with Raven and Wells, and besides, Clarke ended up with half of hers down her shirt while Bellamy was scrubbing foam out of his hair for at least an hour in the shower.

Then fifth year happened, where puberty hit them both hard and fast, where Bellamy ditched the bacon grease and Clarke started leaving the top button of her shirt undone. Now they weren’t just Hogwarts’ source of weekly entertainment, but also Hogwarts’ source of sexual frustration for both boys and girls and everyone in between.

(“Their babies would be gorgeous,” Raven Reyes said one time while she was drunk. This particular fact never made it back to Clarke and Raven would threaten anyone within an inch of their life if they dared threaten that.)

(Some say that that’s how Murphy came to have a crooked nose, but it can’t be proved.)

And then, sixth year happened which saw the rise of their friendship which was not something a bunch of teenage students expected  _ at all _ . They still fight and bicker and argue, but no one misses how Bellamy Blake is the only one to make her laugh for the first part of the year, while Clarke’s eyes soften whenever she looks at him.

(“I have to dissolve my fucking betting pool,” Murphy grumbles. “Those two cost me seven galleons.”)

 

* * *

 

_ 7th year _

Clarke Griffin becomes head girl and Bellamy Blake becomes quidditch captain of the Hufflepuff team. No one is surprised.

They are surprised however when Charlotte, a stammering little third year, walks into the wrong compartment, only to find Bellamy Blake with his head on Clarke Griffin’s lap while Raven Reyes, Octavia Blake, and Nathan Miller have their own conversation unperturbed.

(The whole school knows before they even reach Hogwarts, which is a new record.)

Now, it’s common to find Blake and Griffin sitting together in class, or studying in the library, heads bent over the same book so that gold streams into midnight, or even lounging by the lake with their friends, his arm hooked casually around her back.

No one knows what they are to each other anymore, and it’s slowly driving the entire school  _ crazy _ .

(“Fucking hell,” Raven swears when she walks in on the two of them cuddled in front of the library’s fireplace, Defence Against the Dark Arts notes littered around them. “Are you two fucking or what?”

Bellamy just blinks behind his glasses while Clarke says in the flattest voice possible, “What.”

Raven leaves it at that, but it doesn’t stop her from rolling her eyes and muttering, “You two are goddamn idiots.”)

She’s not the first to ask them, and she’s certainly not the last. Whenever someone dares broach the subject between the two of them, they get a side eyed look, or a scoff, or an expression that reads ‘Don’t you have something else to do with your time?’

Miller is quick to point out that it’s not necessarily a no. In fact, for two quite talkative people, both Bellamy and Clarke are staying rather silent on the subject at hand.

(Bellamy catches the tail end of this conversation and he’s quick to cuff him over the head with a gruff, “Shut up, Miller,” and receives a shove into the banister in return.)

All in all, the truth is finally revealed after the first quidditch match of the year.

It’s no longer a surprise to see Clarke wearing his Hufflepuff scarf while he’s playing, cheering him along right beside his other friends, nor is it a surprise to see her running onto the pitch with everyone else, wrapping him up in what must be a damn near suffocating hug as he lifts her off the ground when they win.

No one bats an eyelash at these things anymore, and everyone is quick to head up to the castle once Indra and Kane start circling them impatiently.

Everything is revealed, because Bryan forgets one of shin pads in the changing room and runs down to get it.

When he gets there, he’s treated to the sight of Clarke pinned to the wall, legs wrapped around Bellamy’s lean torso while presses open mouthed kisses to the side of her neck. Her shirt is missing, and so is his, and he’s getting dirt smudged onto her skin wherever he touches her.

(Bryan is firmly into men, but he still can’t look away from the sight before him, feeling his cheeks warm in the humid locker room.)

In the end, he must make some sort of sound because the two of them rip away from each other, and Bellamy almost drops Clarke in his haste to put space in between them. She glares balefully at him.

They’re both wide eyed and blushing, breathing heavily and they both look like they just got caught doing something that they shouldn’t have, which, in retrospect, is exactly that.

“I’ll just grab this and be out of your way then,” he says, almost dropping the thing in his haste to get out of the room.

Back inside Clarke sighs, running a hand through her tangled hair.

“So much for keeping it a secret,” she says wryly, and he huffs out a laugh. She gnaws on her bottom lip. “I should probably get going.”

Bellamy catches her by her wrist. “Or,” he starts, pulling her back into his very solid chest and leaning down to resume his ministrations against her neck, “You could stay here and finish what you started.”

“What  _ I _ started?”

He grins crookedly at her, and Clarke can’t help the smile that blooms in return. “Yep,” he says, nipping at her lip, “When you jumped me after all my teammates left.”

“I did not  _ jump  _ you-”

He kiss her hard, and feels her melt against his chest, and his heart flips with happiness. “Semantics,” he waves off before shooting her that boyish grin that makes her legs quiver. “They’re all going to know by the morning anyway. I haven’t showered yet and it seems that I’ve gotten you dirty in the aftermath of you jumping me.”

“It seems you have,” she teases, before stepping out of his hold to shimmy off her skirt. Her bra and underwear soon follow and he makes a choked sound in the back of his throat.

She steps into the shower stall before turning around to look at him with a hitched eyebrow.

“Well, aren’t you coming?”

He nods, and almost trips over himself twice in his haste to disrobe. “Yep. I’m definitely coming, alright.”

Her laugh is mostly muffled by his lips on her as her backs them up under the shower spray.

(Bellamy was wrong. The entire school knew before dinner, and when they waltzed in side by side, it was to the greeting a hundreds of pairs of eyes all trained on them. Clarke just rolled her eyes and pulls him down for a sound kiss, ignoring the hushed whispers that break out around them.)

After all, there’ll always be things to talk about when it comes to those two.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm doing 12 days of ficmas on [tumblr](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com)! come on over and say hi :)


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